Chapter 35 Wren
WREN
Standing behind the bar in the club’s lounge feels completely different than the first time a few weeks ago. I can confidently mix drinks, smile at the club members as I hand them out, and not feel like a new piece of prey for them to leer at.
Instead, I have the entire club monitoring me, checking to see if I feel okay, if I’m light-headed, if I need to take a break or sit down or eat. It’s a little overwhelming, but the change is nice.
These men aren’t just snarling beasts ready to kill any man who steps wrong. They’re big softies. Dads. Guards to my safety. I’m learning to appreciate every single one of them.
It makes putting my foot down both easier and harder. I don’t want to discourage them, but I do need to keep my sense of control. My autonomy. It’s not as big of a battle as I thought it would be.
As it used to be.
Things feel so different now. I don’t know why I was so scared to tell them I was pregnant.
Maybe I just didn’t believe it yet. The shock was overwhelming.
I’ve had too many of them in a small span of time—running from my wedding, getting married to a stranger who runs a motorcycle club, a local sheriff that tried to hand me back to my monstrous ex, being saved so many times, learning to love being touched, losing my virginity, being disowned, being shot, escaping my ex a second time… and finding myself pregnant.
Talk about a complete turn around for my life.
My dad even called me a week ago, and we went out on a coffee date. Saint drove me in and sat at the table behind Dad the entire time, between me and the door. He opted to be able to see me rather than hear me, but that also made it hard for me not to stare at him the entire visit.
I bought a fancy hot chocolate with whipped cream and crushed candies on top and a giant croissant—something Dad would have chided me over before. But he didn’t. Instead, we talked about Robbie, even though it seemed like I knew more than he did about what my brother was really going through.
Dad needed to talk through it though. He struggled to understand why Robbie would sacrifice so much. I doubt he knew it was for me.
He did ask me about Saint, which surprised me. Or maybe not with his lingering presence. My smile is what convinced him. I glowed. Dad relaxed an inch.
I haven’t forgiven him yet for trying to marry me off to Grant. For the things he’s pushed my brother into doing. For using me as a piece of his empire instead of treating me like his daughter.
Our relationship is still tenuous, but he’s trying. So I am, too. It also means Mom and Robbie have the freedom to reach out to me.
Once it was obvious we were done, Saint swooped in, nodded to my father, and swept me out to his bike and back home.
Saint, on a whole, has been far more attentive. Checking on me consistently. Asking me about how I feel and tracking the changes. It’s obvious he’s done this before, even though he doesn’t talk about it.
We did talk about his family once. Enough for me to understand the impact of his losing them.
He’d been away on a deployment as a marine when someone broke into his house and killed his wife and son.
I couldn’t bring myself to ask questions or poke at that trauma. I’m just grateful he confided in me.
That he let me hold onto him afterward.
I go to clean up some empties and hand out new drinks. A group of four burly men in the corner is practicing infant CPR on a doll. It’s so small in their hands as they apply chest compressions with the tips of their fingers.
Never in my life would I have thought…but I love the family I’ve found in these muscley, hairy, leather-covered bears. Mack grins at me and points, pride on his face. “Think yours will fit in my hand like this?”
He’s cupping the doll with its diaper in his palm and head on his forearm. It’s tiny.
“Maybe when you’re sitting down. Don’t be swinging my baby around like that.”
He laughs and nods, bouncing the doll in his grip as if to showcase how he could handle it. I shake my head and work my way through the tables.
Sin grabs me by the hips and pulls me back into his lap. His rough hands immediately cradle my belly. It’s not much yet. But of the three of them, he’s the most caveman about it.
I know he’s never imagined himself with a baby, but he hums against the side of my neck—a deeply satisfied sound.
“You smell so good, princess.” His voice is quiet, rough, but so full of love that it has me shivering.
“That’s the hormones, I’m sure.”
He merely growls, his chest vibrating against my back as he wraps another arm around my shoulders to keep me pressed to him. A warm cocoon of muscle and leather. Pure safety and sin.
Mouth to my ear, his teeth giving me a little scrape that sends goosebumps skating down my bare arms, he whispers, “Genevieve.”
I laugh, leaning my head back to look at him. “And if it’s a boy?”
Every baby name he’s offered me has been for a girl: Valentina, Adelaide, Olivia.
“She’s a girl.” He sounds so confident as he pulls me into a kiss, which he will let get carried away if I don’t escape his grasp now.
I shimmy my way free with a knowing smile, swat him on the knee, and point. “Behave.”
“Not in my vocabulary.”
Recollecting my dishes to bring to the bar, I raise my brow at him. “I don’t believe you. You wield that word at me far too regularly.”
He grins a promise at me before I go back to work, dropping dishes in the sink, collecting empties, refilling drinks, and wiping tables down.
Doc has me on some special vitamins and a strict diet to help with my morning sickness, and it’s helping a lot. I almost feel back to normal.
That particular mother hen nabs me around the waist and traps me between his knees and the bar. Deft fingers find my pulse, and Doc’s lips move as he counts. It’s become his ritual, checking my vitals before he can touch me purely for his pleasure.
His hand shifts to splay across the back of my neck, and he searches my eyes. He’s given up trying to hide the intensity of his feelings, not that he was doing a great job to begin with. Still, I like this so much better.
Especially since he doesn’t ask me how I’m feeling. I’ve promised to tell him if anything doesn’t feel right. Abnormal. Bad.
“If you’re feeling okay later, I want to wash your hair.” He squeezes the small muscles at the base of my skull, where they’re often tight.
I raise a brow at him suggestively. I quite enjoy it when he washes my hair. He’s thorough.
“If you don’t feel okay later, I want to wash your hair, but without my cock.”
I see he read my mind. I do like that part of it, too, with both of us sudsy and naked and wet. Arousal zings through me, and it’s a welcome feeling.
His pupils widen, and a smirk curls the corner of his mouth.
Either way, I’m going to like it, and he knows it.
I lean in and kiss him, and he holds me to him, his other hand cupping me under one cheek. I’ve given up on the shorts, and the gang has made an exception in the normal uniform for some leggings and long shirts.
It doesn’t keep any of them from touching me the way they want.
When I start to wriggle in his grip, he flashes a grin at me and traces my cheekbone with his thumb, touch growing so gentle it cracks my heart.
“My pretty little bird.”
“I like it when you pamper me.”
His voice goes rough. “I know. I like it, too.”
I press my hand over his heart before I slip out of his grasp. Grabbing the bar towels, I run them to the washing machine in the back. The scent of the soap still calms the lingering sourness in my stomach.
Hands grip my ass as I bend to shove a load into the dryer. I stand up to be pulled flush against Saint.
“Wife.” His voice is gravel and safety.
“Husband.”
He grins against my ear.
“I thought I told you not to do any heavy lifting.”
“Those are bar towels. They’re not heavy.”
“Agree to disagree.”
I huff, but he turns me, looking down at me with what I now know is love. Affection. Something I’ve been missing for so, so long. I trace the smile lines around his eyes, glad I get to see them a lot more often.
“You’re gonna have to get used to us taking care of you, wife. Being over protective. Hovering. In every bit of your business.”
It doesn’t sound bad to me at all.
“Every bit, huh?” My fingertips draw circles across the broad muscles of his chest, which expand under my touch.
Those hazel eyes burn, and the curve of his mouth is a promise as it descends on mine, pulling out a soft noise from the back of my throat.
The way Saint’s big paws handle me with such care is one hell of a turn on, and when he lifts me to the edge of the washing machine, I’m ready for a little impropriety.
“How about we turn this on and take it for a ride?” The suggestive tone to his words sprouts heat across my cheeks and neck.
Hands smooth up my sides, bracing me, caressing me. It’s soft and sensual and not the overwhelming rush I’m used to with him. It keeps me in the moment, locked on his gaze. I brush my fingers over his chin, almost scratching his beard.
Saint practically purrs at me, but his wicked smile sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. “I see I’m not the only one with thoughts of you—and this—on my brain.”
My eyes round, and I arch to peer over his shoulder. Sin leans against the wall opposite, gaze tracing Saint’s hand as it sends a wave of heat from my knee to thigh. The slow grin he gives me has me biting my lip.
My hands curl into Saint’s shoulders as he dips his head to spread kisses along my shoulder and the side of my neck. A shiver drives down my back, making it arch and press my sensitive breasts against Saint’s chest. His murmur of approval pools heat in my middle.
More movement pulls me back to the room, and Doc is quietly closing the door. Turning, his dark eyes take me in instantly.
A new flash of arousal hits me, knowing I’m about to be surrounded with so much attention and affection. That whenever they have me like this, I become the most cherished woman in the world.
It’s an absolute pleasure to be the center of their focus.
Doc lifts both brows at me suggestively, and I giggle, giving him a smile now. Yes, you can still have me in the shower after this. It’s an easy promise to relay as he settles in to watch my husband have his way with me first.
A nip of Saint’s teeth brings me back to him, and the kiss he lays on me breaks open my soul in the sweetest way. He cups my face in his big hands.
Those hazel eyes always seem to tell me everything I need to know, but his breath is a rumble across my mouth. “Thank god for you, Wren. My perfect, strong, beautiful wife.”
Happiness leaks from me, and I fall into hysterical giggles when he reaches behind me to switch the washing machine on.